Servant of the Seldarine
by ShadowMagister
Summary: An elf returns to Toril after thousands of years. His purpose? To show the Orcs who's boss. Read and Review please!


Disclaimer: I do not own Elves, Orcs, Orogs, the Seldarine, Evermeet, the Forgotten Realms or D&D in general, but I wish I did and am currently working on a fund to buy it! Mwuhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Author's Notes: This is my first fanfic, so READ AND REVIEW! PLEASE!!! I'll send you cookies! *nodnod*  
  
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Servant of the Seldarine  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Lightning lit up the dark clouds in the sky and thick, red rain, similar to blood, began to pour down upon the million elves waiting for the enemy. They looked at the rain with a mix of relief and fear and in their hearts they knew the war would end soon, in the Outer Planes, if not in the Prime Material Plane. Few remembered the beginning of the war. Indeed, even the eldest veteran could remember few battles, but they all remembered the destruction of the forests, the deaths of their allies. They would never forget it.  
  
Thalion Dagnirorqu walked up and down the lines of soldiers, offering advice and comfort to those who needed it. Despite the darkness around them, his mithril chainmail shone as brightly as the sun. He slowly made his way to the sidelines where his mount, a female Unicorn with a coat of pure silver, waited for him. He knew the battle was coming. He could smell the stench of the Orcs, but he made sure he had spoken to all the soldiers under his command before getting ready.  
  
When he finally reached his mount, he was greeted by one of his lieutenants, a particularily somber-looking gold elf by the name of Kelennhasth. Thalion greeted the man with a warm smile and received a curt grunt in return.  
  
"I don't see why you're so happy," the gold elf said. "None of us are going to make it out of here alive. And I very much doubt the Orcs will ensure our souls pass on to Arvanaith." He let out a sigh at the name of the elven heaven where all elves of good found rest.  
  
"There is always hope, my friend," Thalion answered. "Trust in Corellon. He'll see us to victory. The last battle is close and I doubt Gruumsh has the upper hand, or else the Orcs would already be upon us."  
  
Kelenhasth left him, muttering about foolish Bladesingers and brainless Orcs. Thalion laughed, a thrilling and melodic laugh that brought smiles to the soldiers' faces, if for only a moment. He mounted Selaina and looked out towards the barren field, awaiting the arrival of the Dark Host.  
  
And then they came. Thalion had many elves under his command and yet he still felt outnumbered. He saw only a cloud of dust over the horizon, but he heard the screams of rage of the Orcs. For the first time in a very, very long time, he was willing to acknowledge that the war was not going as well as he preached to his men. Still, the Seldarine needed them, if only to prove that the bloodshed was worth it. Thalion drew his sword and raised it so all could see it.  
  
"Shieldmen, ready!" He shouted and the warriors of the front lines set their tower shields into the ground and braced themselves to meet the charge of the Orcs. Thalion waited until he could see the Orcs clearly.  
  
"Archers, nock! Wizards, ready!" As he spoke, the archers of the second line nocked their arrows and the wizards in the third line readied their spells. They all looked at the Orcs with fear, but they all knew what they had to do and each was determined to see this through.  
  
Thalion sheathed his sword in a scabbard attached to his saddle and waited. The Orcs were rushing towards them at an incredible pace. They could be seen clearly now. The general waited until most were within fifty feet and gave orders again, preparing to lend his magic to that of the wizards.  
  
"Archers, fire! Wizards, cast!" As he spoke, thousands of white-fletched arrows soared into the skies and impaled themselves ino the Orcs of the backlines. Those in the frontlines collided into great walls of light conjured by the wizards and were killed upon contact. The resulting explosions were heard for several moments before the colours of the walls began to fade. Thalion wasn't surprised at this, although he wondered once again how Orcs could manage to cast such counterspells.  
  
The walls fell and the Orcs poured onto the battlefield once more. Thalion drew his sword once again and raised it. He lowered it when the first Orcs met the shieldmen and charged into battle on his Unicorn. Men poured from the sidelines and into the fray. Wizards began casting spells more suitable for close combat and archers began picking off targets at close range while the shieldmen met the Orcs with their sword.  
  
Thalion did not even bother to swing his sword, so sharp it was. He merely had to hold it and orcish heads would fall. Selaina was nearly as dangerous as she trampled Orcs with her mithril-shod hoofs and impaled an unlucky few upon her horn. And still the Orcs seemed to be in endless number.  
  
Thalion reached a clear spot of the battlefield and dismounted, petting his Uniron's head and bidding her to be careful in the chaos. She sped off in search of Orcs to impale and the elf looked around for Orcs to tear apart. He quickly found a group of archers upon a mound. He raised his hands and chanted in an arcane tongue the words he needed. A great ball of flame lept forth from his hands and exploded. The archers melted before his eyes.  
  
His thoughts were distracted by a loud grunt and a painful ache in his side. He turned around just in time to parry a large Orog's second thrust. The Elf, caught off-guard was forced to parry a few more hits before showing the creature a true fighting style.  
  
Without warning, he lept off his feet rolled a few feet away from the Orog. The monster charged once more and Thalion rushed at him his feet well balanced and his blade moving with such speed it seemed that the sword was singing, begging to draw blood. And draw blood it did. Before the Orog realised what was happening, it fell apart. Its body parts were thrown all around the field.  
  
Thalion started towards another group of Orcs when a scream of agony muted the relentless thunder. Clear, clean rain began to fall and the elves seemed rejuvenated by it and the Orcs seemed to recoil from it. The Orcs ran off in fear and panic and Thalion slew dozens, but he was overwhelmed. A swarm of brutes carried him off for a distance and he found himself laying face-down in the mud, bruised and battered and trampled by the Orcs. He reached for his sword, but could not find it. He began to laugh, then, at the sense of humour of faith. He had survived countless battles, and he was going to die, felled by fleeing Orcs, but it didn't matter. He had seen the end of the war. The Elves would be in peace. Still, Thalion would miss the battles, the purpose they had given him all these long years. He would miss the rush of battle and most of all he would miss the satisfaction he received from serving the Seldarine. He closed his eyes, awaiting death and heard a clear voice near him.  
  
"You have fought well these many years, Dauntless Orcbane," it said. "I will give you a choice, mortal. You may travel for to Arvanaith and know peace, or you may serve me as long as I have need of brave emissaries."  
  
Thalion looked up and saw a sword of the purest mithril before him, its hilt within reach.  
  
"You have lost your sword," the voice said once more. "You may take mine, if you will serve me."  
  
Thalion reached out and gently stroked the hilt. It seemed right, somehow, as if it had been made for him. He firmly grasped it and felt holy power coursing through him as his wounds were healed.  
  
  
  
A tall woman of golden hair dressed in fine silks gently shook the elven warrior from his reverie. Thalion looked up at her and smiled.  
  
"Corellon will see you now, Lord Orcbane," she said.  
  
Thalion bowed to her once and made his way into the chambers of the Seldarine within Arvandor. He walked through room after room of wild plants and great trees. Birds chipped to greet him and he greeted them in return. At last, he entered a large chamber and sat at the edge of a small pond at its core. He looked at his reflection and marveled once again at how little he had changed during the last few thousand years. His silver hair had lost none of it's luster, shining just as bright as mithril and the same could be said of the spark in his eyes. Thousands of years of hunting fiends and Orcs had not dulled him, they had merely served to strenghten his skill and power.  
  
A soft cough sent the elf from his seat to his knees as he prostrated himself before his master. The god laughed and bade him to stand.  
  
"Have I disturbed you, old friend?" he asked.  
  
"You could never disturb me, Lord, when I am alone." Thalion answered.  
  
"And how much longer do you plan on being alone?" Corellon asked and before his friend could answer he spoke again. "Events are developing on Toril. Old enemies are rising once more. Can I count on you to help those who need it?"  
  
Thalion nodded wordlessly, glad at an opportunity to walk on the Prime Material Plane once more. Corellon too nodded, expecting no less from his friend. He waved his hand absent-mindedly and a shining chain shirt of mithril appeared, along with the rest of Thalion's equipement, potent magical items enchanted to enchance his already considerable skill in battle, amongst other things.  
  
The Silver General began to get dressed and Corellon spoke once again.  
  
"I cannot command the Elves in this matter and do not expect this from you. Guide them if you must, advise them if you can, but issue no orders, lest it is in battle. Do you agree to this."  
  
"If it is your will, it shall be so," Thalion answered, already done with his preparations.  
  
"I must warn you, old friend," Corellon said, "that this may be a bit uncomfortable."  
  
With that, he gently, but firmly, threw his servant into the pool. Water rose and engulfed a very surprised and displeased Thalion. The water of the pool began to spin in a great whirlpool and as the elf disappeared within the great eye in the middle of the pond, a clear image of a large island of green trees was seen within the water. It was the island of Evermeet, the island of the Elves, created long ago by the Seldarine as a refuge for the Elves. Corellon smiled once again, knowing how much this would displease his emissary, who had never liked the idea and had always been most outspoken against it. Perhaps the coming war will make him understand the necessity of Evermeet, Corellon thought, or perhaps it will show the Elves who dwell there a better way of life. 


End file.
